


where i want to be

by armyofbees



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Office Jobs, does this count as a ponzi scheme, they're just being dumbasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: “So,” Caleb says, sliding into Ben’s cubicle with a takeout box of Chinese food. “They think we’re dating.”





	where i want to be

**Author's Note:**

> to be honest i don't know what happened here, but it's here nonetheless. title is from [You're All I Need](https://theweepingcovenant.bandcamp.com/track/youre-all-i-need) by The Weeping Covenant, conveniently located on my [tallster playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/catrsun/playlist/0nbXKfIUKjQpmSBwDK1xnt?si=RFGBlad3QDyRlwSpvaixDQ) :)
> 
> as always thank you to betwixt for the lovely beta job.
> 
> enjoy!

“So,” Caleb says, sliding into Ben’s cubicle with a takeout box of Chinese food. “They think we’re dating.”

“That’s nice,” Ben says mildly, not looking up from the empty cream containers he’s diligently stacking. The coffee machine’s been shit since long before he started there, and sometimes stealing half of the cream basket before Anna can get her hands on it is the only way to survive. He can’t be blamed, really.

And he can’t be blamed for the other thing either. He’s not the one who wanders by Caleb’s desk every morning and ends up staying far longer than he needs to, or the one who bought that fancy creamer that Ben keeps hidden behind Washington’s lunch in the fridge so no one else will use it, or the one who insists on walking Caleb down to his car every night, and more often than not insists on going home with him too. No, Ben’s just the one who accepts all of it without a fuss.

He’s more surprised, really, when he finally does look up from his sad plastic tower of victory, that Caleb hasn’t come to him about this earlier. It’s not like it’s a new rumor, if the way Mary always politely excuses herself from the room when Caleb comes in is any indication, or the way Anna does the same thing with the special addition of making sure everyone knows exactly what she’s doing.

Caleb has a grain of rice on his lip that Ben reaches up to brush off. Caleb makes a face. “Oh c’mon, Ben. This is golden!” He clicks his chopsticks together.

Ben raises an eyebrow. “This is the same thing that’s been happening for months.”

“Yeah, but now we can profiteer off of it.”

“And we couldn’t before?” Ben asks, because despite the many protests he has about the concept of  _ profiteering _ in the first place — and trust Caleb to describe it like that — he is curious. Caleb comes to him with these grand schemes sometimes, one half of which involve burning their godforsaken office building to the ground, and the other half of which center mainly around how to fuck with as many of their coworkers as possible. He likes to scam Abe, because Mary could kick his ass, and Anna is protected by extension. And neither of them want to get within thirty feet of Simcoe, so that’s out. Ed gets a lot of shit too, but that’s from everyone. Ben almost feels bad for him, in a way.

“Are you even listening to me?” Caleb asks, snapping Ben out of his reverie.

“Sorry.”

“Right.” Caleb leans forward to set his takeout carton on Ben’s desk, his arm brushing Ben’s briefly. “So just imagine. We let them believe it, we maybe — I don’t know — go as dates to Washington’s anniversary—”

“Now that’s just mean.” Ben’s smiling.

“— we pretend to be a couple for a few weeks. And then we tell them it was all bullshit.” Caleb nods at him like it’s already decided.

“Caleb, we’d do all that anyway,” Ben points out, and maybe that does warrant a bit more inspection than he’s currently affording it. He shakes the thought loose and continues, “Besides the telling them part. It’s not a good scheme if it doesn’t involve actually doing anything.”

“No, but that’s the thing. They think we just haven’t told them anything yet.” Caleb’s smiling too, wider than Ben and more mischievous, but that’s always been the difference between them. Caleb knocks on the desk a couple times and Ben glances back at where his cream containers are wobbling a little. “We’ve just gotta be really fucking obvious about it. I think Abe has money on us.”

“So you’re scamming him now, too?”

“I’m always scamming him. You just haven’t noticed yet because you don’t like poker nights.”

Ben thinks about it. Granted, it would be easy enough. They wouldn’t have to change much, except Caleb would probably take the liberty of being a little more exhibitionary than normal, and Ben, well. Ben can’t say he doesn’t like that idea. He realizes the whole endeavor would be a sort of self-sabotage; he’d find himself missing something when they eventually went back to normal, and if he gets soft like he’s wont to do around Caleb then there’s a good chance he’ll just flat out tell him how he feels.

“Ben,” Caleb says. “Just picture Abe’s face when we tell him. Please, for me.”

Ben focuses back on Caleb, whose eyes are bright with amusement and the unique joy he takes in terrible plans. “You think this’ll be what pushes Washington over the edge? Think he’ll finally fire us?”

Caleb barks a laugh, clapping Ben on the shoulder. “Maybe. How d’you feel about job hunting?”

Ben makes a face and pushes Caleb’s lunch back towards him. Caleb takes it easily, already rolling his chair away from Ben’s cubicle, unreasonably pleased.

“Optimistic.”

* * *

It starts out simple, like most things that are doomed.

That night, Caleb drops his bag thunderously at Ben’s feet and leans in with a hand on his shoulder to peer at his computer screen. Ben has been staring at the same email for twenty minutes, his cursor blinking mockingly him from the empty reply box. Caleb squeezes his shoulder comfortingly.

“Time sensitive?” he asks.

“No,” Ben says, abruptly closing his browser and hitting the power button. If he has to read the words “respectfully,” “employee,” or “complaint” one more time he’s going to throw himself off of something. Or maybe just put himself within thirty feet of Simcoe and see what happens. He leans his head back against Caleb’s stomach where it’s pressed against the back of Ben’s chair, and Caleb pats his head sympathetically.

Ben closes his eyes and Caleb makes an understanding little noise and  _ Oh, _ Ben thinks,  _ this is going to be way easier than I thought. _ He sits up slowly and pushes Caleb away so he can stand, picking up Caleb’s bag as he goes and passing it to him.

“I need a thirteen-hour nap,” he says, sweeping his half-collapsed cream containers into the trash and pulling his keys from his wallet. “Or maybe just a stiff drink.”

“Technically you could do both,” Caleb says, following when Ben starts towards the elevator.

Ben almost stiffens when he feels Caleb’s hand brush the fabric of his jacket, but then he settles his palm at the small of Ben’s back just as they’re passing Abe’s desk and all he can do is try not to pity the misguided look of triumph on Abe’s pitiful, pitiful face. Ben turns to Caleb to hide a smile.

“Nice show back there,” Caleb jokes once they’re in the parking ramp, pinching Ben’s waist.

Ben doesn’t give him the satisfaction of squirming, instead simply side-stepping so he can’t do it again. “Be quiet. We’re not the only ones who park here.”

“Eh,” Caleb says, unbothered. “I could be talking about anything. Your ass, your unparalleled work ethic… your ass.”

Ben shoots him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, alright.”

“My place or yours?” asks Caleb, slouched in the passenger seat of Ben’s Corolla as he winds carefully out of the parking garage.

Honestly, Ben would rather he dropped Caleb on the sidewalk outside his building and had a nice night in with Netflix and cheap pasta as his date, but as it is he feels bad turning Caleb down, even for the sake of his own sanity. “Yours?” he asks, because he’s not above beating a quick retreat, at least.

“Sure,” Caleb says. “I’ll cook.”

“Thank god.”

Caleb’s apartment is messy as ever, but Ben’s shoes and jacket both have a place in the front hall and he knows his way around well enough to not trip as he wanders over to the couch and drops like a stone onto the cushions. He lets out a long groan as his back adjusts to laying flat for the first time all day.

“Zucchini, Tallboy?” Caleb asks, poking his head out from where he’s already banging around in the kitchen. “And how about salmon?”

Ben makes a sound that might be affirmative into the couch, then lifts up his head. “Why do you just have that stuff lying around, anyway?”

Caleb shrugs. “I see it, I go,  _ huh, I could make something with that, _ and somehow it ends up here. Plus, I know you like salmon.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and lets his face drop back into the pillows, dozing off as much as he can when he’s breathing through half a nostril and a lump in the seat seems keen on driving itself into his spleen. He’s almost well and truly sleeping by the time Caleb appears with two plates in hand. He sets them on the table and retrieves two beers from the fridge, then shoves Ben’s legs off the couch and settles in next to him.

“Jesus, you’re dead weight. What the hell happened at work today?”

Ben sighs as he sits up, pushing his hair back and making a half-decent attempt to look like he wouldn’t rather be fast asleep right now. “You ever think that some of our coworkers are trying to kill us? Or at least make our lives significantly harder?”

Caleb grunts noncommittally.

“I just think I shouldn’t have to teach Ed how to number files. I think that should be something he knows how to do. I also think that knowing how to make bulleted lists in Word should be common knowledge.” He pauses, finally picks up his fork, and stuffs a bite of zucchini into his mouth. It tastes like heaven. “Don’t you think so?”

“Probably,” Caleb says. “But Ed’s Ed. He’s a special case.”

“Special, sure,” Ben mutters. He sits back into the couch with another weary sigh, finally digging into dinner in earnest. “What’s on?”

“Probably nothing,” Caleb says as the TV buzzes to life and they’re deposited right in the middle of yet another rerun of  _ 27 Dresses. _ They don’t even bother to change the channel.

Ben will never admit it, but he does have a soft spot for the silly cable romances every channel seems to love airing.  _ 27 Dresses _ is alright, and as long as he’s talking numbers,  _ 50 First Dates _ is fine too, and really, Ben decides, anything can be good as long as he’s sinking into Caleb’s couch and pretending to be enthralled by James Marsden while secretly drinking in Caleb’s smile and his closeness.

Maybe,  _ really, _ he just needs to sleep.

Ben crashes at Caleb’s, because Caleb makes the executive decision that he’s not safe to drive after Ben nearly trips over his own feet bringing his dishes into the kitchen to be washed. The couch folds out into a futon, which is fine, and Caleb insists he borrows a pillow, which is better. Ben can hardly find it in him to take a shower before he collapses into the sheets, burying his nose in the pillowcase. It smells like Ben’s hair smells right now. Like Caleb’s shampoo.

“Hey,” Caleb says softly, nudging him. “Tomorrow’s Friday.”

“Thank  _ god,” _ Ben slurs, and then he drifts off.

* * *

Friday bleeds into the weekend, and before Ben knows it he’s making coffee at noon on Sunday, having just woken up. Usually he goes to church, fueled either by residual guilt over the last time he called his dad or by the fact that his pastor is actually a half decent speaker, but today he wakes up groggy and only drags himself out of bed once he realizes that Nate’s coming over in an hour.

Ben’s just gotten changed and is on his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rings. He answers it to find Nate, standing there with a bag from his favorite sandwich shop and two Starbucks coffees in hand. He looks down at Ben’s mug, then up at his sleep-wrinkled face.

“Oh,” Nate says.

“I feel like a zombie,” Ben says, and steps aside to let Nate in.

“Well, alright,” Nate says, toeing his shoes off and dropping the sandwiches on the coffee table. “The office wearing you thin?”

Ben groans and drops back onto the couch, clanging his coffee down unceremoniously on the table. Nate was his college roommate, and he’s always had a suspicion that he expected him to make something more of himself than he did. Nate, for his part, is a lawyer now, and Ben thinks he’s probably a little disappointed in Ben’s all-American office job. Ben thinks he’s probably a little disappointed in himself too, but he tries not to think about it. There are worse things to be than a pen-pusher.

Nate sits next to him and props his feet up on the coffee table. Ben stares at everything lined up there: feet, coffee, and sandwiches. He’s pretty sure they don’t really go together.

“I’m just glad it’s the weekend,” Ben finally says.

“You ever think of getting out of there?” Nate asks, and there it is, for real and in his face.

“Eh,” Ben says, thinking of stacked creamer. Thinking of empty takeout boxes left abandoned on his desk. “Not really.”

Nate squints at him briefly but doesn’t push. Then he says, “So tell me about this Caleb thing.”

Ben had texted him about it last night, already fed up with not talking to anybody about the acute torture that Caleb was putting him through. Already on Friday he’d brought Ben lunch, leftovers from dinner the night before, and not-so-subtly grabbed his hand as they were leaving for the parking ramp. It was all almost worth it, if only for the look of victory on Abe’s poor face. Rob just kept looking at them like he knew exactly what was happening, which he probably did.

In a fit of slapstick terror after Caleb had threatened to kiss him goodnight, Ben had sent Nate only,  _ FUCK OH NO, _ and it had all spiraled from there.

“You know how this ends,” Nate says, knocking shoulders with Ben. Ben stares dejectedly into his third cup of coffee. “You read enough Harlequin romance.”

“First of all,” Ben says, “no. Flat out. Second of all, I’d only give it a fifty-fifty chance of working out like that.”

“Fifty-fifty? That’s… more than I expected.”

“Well,” Ben says, and then stops. Well what? “I don’t know, you start to notice things. We’re practically dating already.”

“I guess,” Nate agrees. “Maybe you’re more self-aware than I give you credit for.”

“Nate.”

Really, where the past few days should’ve thrown what dating Caleb would be like into sharp relief, it’s all just felt eerily familiar. Caleb brings him lunch half the time anyway, and he leaves sticky notes on Ben’s monitor to cheer him up, and he brings Ben water when he forgets to drink anything all day, and — god fuck, it’s kind of the worst, realizing all of that now.

“Maybe this is just a scheme to get you to date him,” Nate muses.

“He doesn’t need a scheme.”

“He probably doesn’t know that,” Nate points out. When Ben looks at him, he’s grinning. “I want in on the betting.”

“Co-workers only,” Ben says. “No one’s taking Abe’s money but me. Or Rob.”

Nate doesn’t say anything to that, just raises an eyebrow and sips at his coffee. Ben’s face twitches. Nate is very, very punchable sometimes.

* * *

Ben stares.

Caleb’s left flowers on his desk. A whole bouquet of roses arranged in a surprisingly tasteful vase with a note tucked into the top of it.  _ With love, _ is all it says, and it’s signed with a C that is probably a little larger than it needs to be. Ben leaves the vase on the edge of his desk with the note facing outward, and he waits.

A few minutes later, Abe passes by his desk, does a double-take, and then there’s the dull clatter of a paper cup dropping to the ground and bouncing.

“Ben,” Abe says, sounding a little strangled.

“Abe,” Ben replies, smiling brightly. “How’s it going?”

“Wh—” Abe starts, cutting himself off. “Alright,” he says after another beat, and then he goes. Ben leans out of his cubicle and sees Caleb already watching. They make eye contact and Caleb gives him a thumbs up, and something warm stirs in Ben’s chest.

* * *

“He’s totally buying it,” Caleb says proudly, toasting Ben with his beer from his place on Ben’s counter.

Ben smiles indulgently, as if he’s not just as pleased about it. “He is.” Outside the window it’s dark, late enough that Caleb should probably have gone home by now, but Ben’s just finished up with the dishes and they’re both basking in the satisfied air that fills the kitchen, facing each other. It’s been a long day of stacking cream containers, and Ben’s just happy to be home.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Ben says, watching Caleb lean forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “You’re not even getting any money out of this, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not in the betting. It’s not like we’re actually—” Ben smirks to himself. “Well, profiteering.” It’s true. He keeps thinking about it, and keeps thinking about what Nate said. Caleb wouldn’t do this just for the entertainment value — well, he would, but still — and he’s not actually making any money, unless Rob is in on the scheme and Caleb just hasn’t told Ben about it. Ben’s starting to think maybe there’s a different incentive for the both of them.

“Oh, I am,” Caleb says easily.

“Caleb,” Ben prods, when he doesn’t elaborate.

“Ben,” Caleb replies, still smiling, and eases himself off the counter to drop his empty bottle in the recycling, effectively ending the conversation.

* * *

As Washington’s anniversary approaches, he sends out an email announcing that employees are welcome, along with the date and location. For as long as Ben’s worked there, Washington’s anniversary has served as the annual company party. He thinks it’s partly because this way Washington doesn’t have to put any thought into organizing an official one, and partly because for all that he is the way that he is, Washington actually likes some of his employees.

Anna slides by his desk a few days before. “So you’re going to this thing, right?” she asks, and he can tell she’s trying to be sly.

“Sure,” Ben says. “Caleb wants to, anyway, so.” He leaves whatever that means up to her interpretation.

“Right,” Anna says, slapping the surface of his desk before she pushes off again, sailing surprisingly gracefully back to her cubicle in her roller chair. Ben only notices later that she’s nabbed some of his creamer from its pyramid.

That night he and Caleb end up back at Ben’s place again. Caleb’s frying something and Ben’s chopping cabbage next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder in his cramped kitchen.

“You got any paprika?” Caleb asks, nudging Ben a little. Ben smiles slightly at the gesture.

“Sure. In the cupboard.” He turns to get it himself anyway, because he’s closer to the cupboard and it’s easier for Caleb this way. He reaches up, grabs the container, turns back around, and stops short. Caleb hasn’t really moved beyond prodding the meat in the pan, but there’s something that gives Ben pause. Maybe it’s Caleb in his kitchen, cooking with his pans and his stove like they’re his own, maybe it’s the way his shoulders slope comfortably, like he’s right at home. Maybe it’s just that Ben’s pretty sure at this point that they’re not doing this for fun anymore.

He steps in close behind Caleb and thinks, _ What the hell, _ before reaching out and resting a hand on his waist. He drops a kiss on the place where Caleb’s shoulder meets his neck before handing him the paprika. “Here,” he says, smiling against Caleb’s skin when he tenses.

“Thanks?” Caleb says, turning around as he takes the container. He rests his free hand tentatively on Ben’s arm, watching him.

“I just…” Ben trails off, and realizes he doesn’t actually have anything to say. They stand there in his kitchen, warm from the stove at Caleb’s back and the way they’re looking at each other.

“Yeah, me too,” Caleb says, as if it weren’t obvious. Ben just smiles and leans in to close the gap, but Caleb stops him before he can. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“We can’t tell Abe,” Caleb says urgently.

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Ben groans, sagging against him.  _ “Caleb.” _

“No, it’ll go straight to his head!” Caleb insists.

_ “Caleb,” _ Ben says, laughing now and tugging at Caleb’s shirt.

“And Rob’ll kill me.”

That quiets Ben for a moment. “Rob—? I fucking knew it! Why didn’t you tell me?” Caleb looks at him, eyes sparkling, and he reconsiders. “Never mind,” he mutters, leaning in, and this time Caleb lets him.

* * *

“What did I tell you?” Nate asks when Ben calls. He hasn’t even said anything yet.

“Shut up?” Ben tries.

“No,” Nate says, a grin in his voice. “So he finally did it?”

“I did,” Ben admits. “I got tired of neither of us saying anything, you know? You can only be in a relationship for so long without realizing it.”

Nate makes an unimpressed humming sound over the phone. “Apparently.”

“Don’t.”

_ “He made me dinner, Nate! He walks me to my car, Nate! I want to get a dog and have three kids with him, Nate! Don’t forget the white picket fence, Nate! He asked for that specifically.” _

“You’re lucky you’re not here in person, you ass.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nate says, but they both know Ben’s secretly pleased.

* * *

“I have a question,” Ben says. They arrive late to Washington’s anniversary party half because of traffic and half because Caleb got distracted helping Ben with his tie and ended up having to retie it twice, for various reasons. Ben loops his arm through Caleb’s as they catch sight of where everyone’s gathered under a pair of white tents. They’ve rented out a country club, which is fancier than Ben anticipated, but he probably shouldn’t be surprised. He feels a little like he’s at a wedding, is all.

“Shoot,” Caleb replies.

“How long are we planning to do this to him?” Because Ben’s getting a little tired of it, in all honesty, especially since while the jig isn’t technically up yet, the jig is now completely fabricated on all accounts. He’s pretty sure almost everyone’s guessed as much too, but Abe’s a little invested in his bets at this point. He’s like a horse with blinders.

“He is gonna get paid eventually, isn’t he?” Caleb sounds disappointed.

“So there weren’t like, contingencies on this bet? Conditions?” Ben asks, returning the dry look Caleb shoots him. “It wasn’t at least,  _ They’ll tell us they’re together by Washington’s party? _ It was just flat out?”

“You know, now that you mention it, it was a shit bet.”

“Yes. It was.” Ben squeezes Caleb’s arm good-naturedly as they come into earshot of where Mary, Abe, Rob, and Ed are gathered. “Luckily, I’ve got no skin in the game.”

“Ben,” Caleb warns as Ben releases him to wave.

“What’s up, everybody?” He’s greeted with a chorus of hellos. “I’d like you all to meet my boyfriend, Caleb. We met at work.”

He can feel Caleb seething beside him as Abe’s face morphs into a horrifying sort of joy. Something happens to Rob’s mouth, a tightening or just a slight frown, and the dark look he gives both of them is enough to make Ben feel sufficiently reamed. Anna and Mary just share a smile while Ed does his best to look like he’s not shrinking away from the storm gathering over Rob’s head.

“You all owe me so much money,” Abe says, like he can’t really believe it.

“I suppose we do,” Rob says, low, like he’s considering the merits of hiring hitmen. He turns to Abe with a tight smile. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Never took you for a sore loser,” Caleb says, and even Ben stops smiling at that. He wedges an elbow into Caleb’s ribcage and makes to steer him towards the drinks table. He doesn’t really want to lose Caleb so soon after they finally got together, and Rob looks on the brink of murder already.

Rob just turns that terrible smile on him and watches them leave.

“He’s going to kill you,” Ben says.

“He can’t kill me, he’s a Quaker.”

“He’ll find a way.”

Caleb takes the drink that Ben offers him, and they turn to look over at their friends. Abe has a hand laid placatingly on Rob’s arm, and Anna is saying something to Ed with a smile and a lot of hand gestures. Mary’s nodding at times for emphasis.

“Well, there are worse ways to go.”

Ben leans into him just slightly. “He’d make it painful.”

Caleb leans back, pressing their arms together with a small sigh. “Least I’m in good company.”

Ben looks at him, at the way he’s smiling like he’s happy with how all of this turned out, regardless. “At least,” he agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> if you liked this, feel free to check out my [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
